


Happily Ever After (I Think?)

by Crazy4MadHatter



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2020-12-27 08:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21115583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy4MadHatter/pseuds/Crazy4MadHatter
Summary: Takes place after KOA. Manon has some lingering PTSD from losing her Thirteen, but Dorian is there to save the day...unexpectedly. Love this pairing so much, just had to write about them. Please check it out! There's some nakedness.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm super psyched to bring you this new fic that I've been working on. It was a little harder for me to write from Dorian's and Manon's perspectives, but hopefully I was close. The ending of this fic came from some last minute inspiration and I wanted to see how it played out... honestly I'm pretty proud of this bad boy—mostly because it helped me prolong my time with these characters because the series is over :( Anyway, hope you all enjoy and read on!   
xHatter

"Manon, live."

Those words, seemingly out of nowhere, plucked at something within her. Not enough to recall where, exactly she'd heard them, though. Awareness slowly dawned on Manon, she could not open her eyes; could not move her arms or legs—she was merely an unwitting prisoner, ensconced in darkness.

Until a flash of a witch's hair—blonde and billowing, was revealed. Farther and farther away the witch soared, and she never looked back. Manon tried to comprehend the scene that was unfolding, had begun to realize who had spoken to her, and what all of it meant.

She was helpless to fight the next vision, this time of the Thirteen, riding on the winds that called to their blood, to their very bones. Their wyverns were beneath them, roaring in defiance as they flew to their final destination. Blink by blink, they neared the witch tower, their deaths engraved on her very soul: Imogen going down first; Lin following. Blink. Ghislaine, oh Ghislaine; Thea and Kaya, together even in death. Blink. The demon twins, laughing as they went, mad to the very end. Blink. Edda and Briar, legendary Shadows, arrows still hitting their marks even as they went down. Blink. Vesta, her Third, followed by Sorrel, who's final act was to leave the way open for Asterin. Manon ached with yearning to gaze upon their faces once more, to say good-bye to each of them.

There was nothing that Manon could do as she watched her cousin fly to her death. There was no scream loud enough; no move clever enough to change what happened next.

As her Thirteen were devoured by their Yieldings, her body clenched in agony as she tried to do—something, anything to stop, just stop. She was nothing, nothing without them. She would live with their souls etched on her miserable heart until the darkness claimed her.

A familiar feeling began to build in her chest then, began building outward. There was a thrum in her veins, the pounding increasing in tempo. As her blood began to sing, Manon felt lighter, felt free—

"Rise and shine, witchling." The sunlight was near-blinding as the curtains were yanked back.

Manon snarled. "Get out."

Her eyes cracked open to reveal the King of Adarlan grinning wolfishly down at her. "And why ever would I do that?"

She ground her teeth together, "I said, get the hell out." His response was to wrench the sheets off of her. In no mood for the King's antics, she sprang out of bed, ready to attack. Before she could make her move, she was pinned to the bed by his invisible hands of magic. She was utterly naked, but couldn't find it in herself to care.

His voice was a dark caress. "So touchy this morning. Are we forgetting about your responsibilities? The young wyverns who have yet to be fully trained?"

"I. Don't. Care." She writhed against the hands, aware that her movements were causing a reaction in the King that would normally please her. Not today.

He just stared at her, as if he could see what she had been about to do, in the dream. She stared him down for as long as she could, but eventually closed her eyes in an attempt to fight the emotions that were slowly beginning to suffocate her. She couldn't entirely prevent tears from falling down her face.

The hold on her arms and legs slackened, and the bed shifted as Dorian put his weight on it. A moment later, his arms came around Manon, and she turned to bury her face in his neck as he held her.

Eventually, she was able to breathe. Eventually she felt strong enough to admit, "I miss them."

He was quiet for a time. She didn't expect him to say, "As they miss you." She felt more than saw the sincerity of his words, and was glad that he couldn't see her. She wouldn't have been able to bear the weight of his gaze.

It was quiet between them for so long that Manon felt her stomach rumble, demanding sustenance. Neither of them moved, still.

"I will never forget."

Dorian took a deep breath. "Nor, I imagine, will any who were saved due to their sacrifice."

Manon couldn't help but feel grateful for the King, something that had made her uncomfortable in the beginning, but that she had now come to depend on. Her stomach came to the forefront of her mind, and suddenly that was all she cared about. She sat up quickly, finally ready for the day to begin, finally unburdened—for the moment.

"Finally willing to admit we're hungry, then?"

Manon smirked, but didn't give him the satisfaction of looking his way. "Perhaps." She felt him rise and made to put on her slippers. She had no idea what she was in the mood for that morning, but she was craving something delicious. The High Queen was so focused on her upcoming meal that she hadn't even noticed that the King had gone utterly silent.

Across the halls of the castle they walked, one in pursuit of the royal kitchens, and the other in deep thought. It was a lightly breezy, nice summer day—what more could one ask for, really? The castle was calm, if not still in a state of rebuilding. The King had come to appreciate his new residence, not only because it was completely new, but mostly because it represented a fresh era and a bright future. Gone were the days of constant stress and constant fear for the lives of his loved ones, for the future of the world.

As the two were coming upon the kitchens, Dorian pulled Manon into an alcove nearby. "Manon."

"Dorian."

Looking at her intensely, he said, "Marry me."

"I'm sorry?" Did he just say what she thought he said?

Unfalteringly, he repeated himself. "I said, marry me."

The High Queen and the King of Adarlan stared each other down for several minutes. Manon was used to winning, but so was Dorian, and he wasn't going to back down. Not one bit. Eventually she realized that they were at a stalemate. But, like a good sport, she conceded.

"Fine."

The grin that spread across Dorian's face was enough to make her heart race, but she would never admit that to him. Forcing her face to curl up in disgust, she made to walk away. Having none of that, Dorian grabbed her by the waist and spun her around until they were nose to nose. She tried to snarl at him—in vain of course—but he just leaned in and kissed her. Manon wasn't able to help herself as her arms came around him, one tangling in his hair and the other wrapped around his shoulder.

When they eventually broke apart, he murmured, "That wasn't so bad now, was it Witchling?" And he had the audacity to smirk at her!

Glaring at him, she muttered, "It was decent, if that."

"Whatever you say."


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm excited to have you read this and give me feedback! This story is definitely not finished as far as I'm concerned. Let's see where it takes us.   
xx  
Hatter

Manon Blackbeak was furious. How in the hell had she allowed herself to be talked into this?

A marriage, that was one thing. A ridiculously ostentatious, "traditional," troublesome wedding? Quite another. Unbidden, the advisor to the King of Adarlan's voice flooded her mind:

"My Queen, we must do what is best for your kingdoms. I understand that you'd both rather something a bit more...private, but unfortunately you have a duty to your people. They deserve a celebration. 

And what better way than through your happy union? Surely you can see the positive impact it will have on both of your people..."  
Staring at herself in the mirror, The High Queen couldn't help her frown. Dread pooled in her stomach; she wasn't afraid of much, but the thought of what was to come mere hours from now...she had trouble drawing breath.

Manon felt a hand on her shoulder. "You're looking a little peaky, dear." Glennis' voice was like a balm to her growing panic, a presence that she'd never expected to have let alone welcome. She turned towards her great-grandmother and tried for a smile—or any sort of warmth—but the best she managed was a grimace.

Her great-grandmother only chuckled knowingly, rubbing her hands on Manon's shoulders in an effort to soothe, "Didn't get much sleep, I take it?" Manon snarled quietly at the knowing smile that spread across Glennis' face.

The High Queen tried to take a deep breath. It was one day. She was claiming the one she could not be without. In front of thousands of people. Some of them friends, most of them not. The panic began to set in again, but as Manon was wont to do, she transposed any emotion that she wasn't entirely comfortable with into fury. She closed her eyes. Took some deep breaths. Tried to convince herself to focus on anything other than what awaited her.

She tried to imagine what Asterin would say. How she'd tell Manon to woman the hell up and snarl right back at her, no fear whatsoever of what Manon would do to her for it. She felt a twinge where her heart should have been, imagining the calming presence of her Thirteen and where the rest of them would be on this day of all days; like a ghostly overlap of events that had already occurred and were yet to unfold. This gave her strength.

She opened her eyes finally, not necessarily meeting the gaze of her great-grandmother as she ground out, "I'm sorry." Manon missed the amusement dancing in Glennis' eyes.

"It's quite alright. Shall we?" Glennis gestured towards the doors, a grand beckoning of sorts, for the day to begin.

Before Manon could reply, the doors burst open of their own accord. "Looks like I arrived just in time. How's the lucky bride-to-be?" The feral grin that Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius directed towards her was lethal, as always.

As she approached—slowly, tentatively, and decidedly not like the Queen of Terrasen at all—Manon's eyebrow rose. She purred at Aelin, taunting her, "Scared to come closer?"

Aelin was still grinning as she said, "Never. I do, however, have to worry about more than just myself now." It was then that Manon noticed what the Queen of Terrasen was wearing: a strapless, floor-length silver gown cinched underneath the bust with a ribbon, with extravagant beading that had been sewn in like stars scattered throughout. But what really caught her attention was the way that the fabric fell over her slightly swollen abdomen.

Now it was Manon's turn to grin. "You're going soft."

"You wish."

Manon chuckled as Aelin grabbed her by the forearm in a respectful greeting. It was comforting to know that some things would never change. Glennis shook her head and rolled her eyes, completely baffled by it all.

The High Queen would never admit it, but she might have relaxed—just a little bit.

...

In another part of the castle, The King of Adarlan leaned over a balcony, engrossed in the world that was his kingdom. He made a study of the smoke billowing from chimneys, of the music the birds were chirping to him and to the whole of Rifthold, and the silence of life due to the lack of people out and about. It was still early though; nothing of note would be happening just yet. He supposed that denizens would be up soon to prepare for the upcoming ceremony and celebration, excited at the prospect of something good happening, where that hadn't been the norm lately.

Dorian Havilliard had been—and still was—incredibly surprised by just how many people had descended upon his realm to witness such an event. Allies from the war and their people made up the bulk of them, and even newcomers that he was yet to be introduced to had shown up. But then again, maybe he shouldn't have been quite so surprised. He was after all marrying the lost High Queen and uniting their two kingdoms.

The sound of familiar footsteps approached, tearing him from his musings.

"Today's the day." The cheeriness in Chaol's tone was genuine, but it wasn't enough to stave off Dorian's nerves. He'd been awaiting this day—moreover this union—for months. So why was he so...restless?

The King's gaze didn't waver as he replied, "So it is."

"Are you alright?"

Dorian turned to face his friend. "Chaol, I can't help but think of the many women who have touched my life on this day of days," he seemed to steel himself, and then gruffly muttered, "Particularly Sorscha."

The Hand of the King's eyebrows rose imperceptibly. "Ahhh. Are we feeling guilty, my King?"

"How am I allowed to be happy, can others be happy, when she was not granted that same chance? How can I live with myself?"

Chaol placed a comforting hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Dorian, listen to me. No one deserved Sorscha, not a one. But she made a sacrifice, for you—for all of us. What do you think she'd do if she could see you now, squandering your wedding day out of guilt? Would that make her happy? Was that who she was?"

"She cannot be forgotten, Chaol. I never want that for her."

Feeling for his friend, Chaol gave the King of Adarlan's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "And so she won't be."


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're getting closer to the ceremony...who's pumped?! This took me a while to think through, but I love the concept and can't wait for you guys to read it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there folks! I had a lot of ideas going into this chapter, but I think this is the one I'm happiest with. I hope you enjoy!

As her attendants--who were all too fussy by the way, a trait that grated on her nerves like none other; the High Queen was not one to be fussed over, but feared eternally--finished dressing her, Manon stepped away from their throng, effectively dismissing them. She could tell they weren’t used to such abruptness because in any similar instance the girls would always fall all over each other, blushing harshly and muttering apologies as they scampered away. They did so now. 

Once they were gone, Manon returned to the mirror to get a better look at herself. 

The dress felt...comfortable, to Manon’s surprise. As she stared at the mirror and admired what she saw, she couldn’t help but feel like she was gazing at a version of herself that she’d never encountered. The woman staring back at her was refined, dressed in a gown that was simple but regal. She loved the beautiful skirt that hugged her hips until mid-thigh and then billowed out into a train that wasn’t ridiculously long and fussy. She’d felt a little apprehensive about the sleeves of the dress because they reached all the way to her wrists, but she couldn’t even hold onto the feeling because she didn’t feel the least bit restricted. The top of the dress reached to just below her shoulders, but the material gave enough that should the need to fight emerge, she would have full range of motion. (She knew nothing would present itself, but still hoped for it anyway.)

Her hair wouldn’t present a problem either, as it had been swept into an artful braid that dangled over her shoulder casually. She preferred the braid to any other style they could have concocted, and was grateful for her good fortune. 

Before she could start to focus on her shoes, the one unfavorable aspect of her whole ensemble, the Queen of Terrasen made her presence known.

Manon had done what Glennis had bid her and gone to get dressed while the other females in her wedding party had converged in another room to ready themselves. Manon had no idea what they were wearing, nor did she particularly care. 

The High Queen’s hackles rose the second the silence in the room was broken. 

“Never thought I’d say this and actually mean it, but...you look gorgeous.” 

“Must you always insist on poking the bear?” Came the sweeter, much more gentle voice of Lady Elide Lochan, a dear friend, and one of the bravest women Manon had ever known. 

“Please, Manon loves it.”

“I think you have an addiction to danger.” 

“I’m not going to tell you that you’re wrong.” Manon almost chuckled at the clearly exasperated sigh that followed, but instead opted to turn around and face her hecklers. 

Her great-grandmother gave a little gasp, and held a hand to her mouth, tears glistening in her eyes. Manon felt her throat tighten, and in an effort to ignore it, looked at Queen Aelin standing in the middle--clearly the unofficial leader of the party-- and noticed that around her stood Glennis, Elide, and Yrene Towers (the Savior of Erilea, loathe as the young woman was to admit it). She would never express herself out loud, but Manon was glad for her companions. 

Petra Blueblood joined a minute later, holding two glasses of champagne and with a knowing glint in her eyes, walked right up to Manon and offered her one. 

Their eyes met in understanding. With a grunt of thanks, Manon took a gulp, hoping it would calm her rekindled nerves. She took deep breaths, reminding herself that in a few hours time, the wretched ceremony would be over and done with and she’d be free to do as she pleased. Feeling a little refreshed, she took a deep breath and handed the glass back to Petra. 

When they had initially fought Erowan and Maeve and won, Manon had only one focus: the mourning of her Thirteen, and the struggle of life without them. She had been so lost in her sorrow that she hadn’t noticed anyone else, but now that these females were with her, she felt like she had been given a second chance to truly celebrate with them, though again she’d never admit it out loud. 

She was pulled from her thoughts by the clanking of a glass. 

“Ladies,” Aelin began, “I would just like to take a moment to say a few words about the blushing bride-to-be,” She paused as giggles broke out amongst them, “Manon Blackbeak is without question one of the fiercest warriors to have ever lived. Her courage, her skills, and her heart are unmatched. Without her aid during the war, we would not be in this room celebrating, but somewhere without light, and more importantly, without love. So let’s raise our glasses to this brilliant witch,” her grin would have been almost feral, had there not been mist in her eyes as she concluded, “and wish her the best of luck dealing with Dorian.” Another pause as giggles again erupted, and then she raised her glass. “To Manon!” 

“To Manon!” Echoed the others, and Manon couldn’t help herself as she smiled, just a tiny bit. 

The High Queen took yet another breath, and decided that she was ready to face this, to walk not towards uncertainty, but towards Dorian, who despite himself, had proved to be her one true companion in every way. She sent a prayer to the Mother, thanking her Thirteen for everything they’d sacrificed and the journey they’d led her on, towards the light. 

Conviction rang in her bones as she announced, “It’s time.”


End file.
